Let’s begin with the cast of characters:
A mom in the waiting room.
Watching the clock (tick, tick).
One hour is okay. They said one hour.
2 hours is not okay. 2.5 hours is definitely not okay.
Page the doctor again.
Anxiety. She’s in trouble.
Why can’t it be me instead, this is not the natural order of things.
I’m not okay.
 
A dad at work.
Looking normal on the outside.
Going through the motions with machines and metal and tools and oil.
Shoving down emotions.
This is life.
She’ll survive, she’s tough.
I’m not okay.
 
A Doctor in the surgery room.
I explained the procedure.
I told her she’d be fine. No problem.
This is beyond my expertise.
I think of what I would do if it were my mom, my sister on this table.
She’s had too much sedation, she’s been prodded too much.
And I call it.
This situation is not okay.
 
There’s an RN.
I get to hold this hand like it’s my job.
It is my job, to have compassion, to send love and care through this hand.
To comfort and soothe. To joke. But to know this is serious.
When I tell her she’s okay, I mean it.
I’m here, you’ll be okay.
But am I okay?
 
A group of friends spread throughout the world.
Connected by Facebook.
They don’t know, because it hasn’t been shared with them.
So they go about their day, wanting to send love but not yet asked to.
Tomorrow there will be infinite “likes” and words of encouragement.
Today they post selfies and motivational memes.
Some are okay, some are not, but their pictures smile.
 
And a man in a far off land.
That feels a lifetime away.
Normalized in a world of hospitals and needles.
But it’s different when they belong to her.
My heart aches that I am not there.
I want to wrap her up in my arms.
And make sure she knows I’m not a thousand miles away.
That she can lean on me even though I’m not okay.
 
Freeze.
Camera zooms in on me:
Lying on the hospital bed
It’s cold in my thin open nightgown
They put warm blankets all around me
The RN holds my hand
The Doctor moves into my jugular vein
My mom is in the waiting room with 20 strangers holding her breath
My dad is dissociated with a wrench at work
My friends create their day in the world
And he holds someone else’s hand in a different hospital
And I wonder, is everyone else okay?
 
Fentanyl
The world goes fuzzy black
I feel pressure on my neck
Time looses meaning
 
Who I was: Glitter toenail polish fading from a month ago in Vegas as I relived my showgirl days
Who I am: Humbled on a cold hospital bed
On the outside: Vitality and beauty
On the inside: Twisted uncooperative veins, weak blood damaged by disease
Outside potential: Relationship, speaking, MedX at Stanford
Inside potential: Internal bleeding, possibilities of eventual transplant
So much potential all around that doesn’t matter in this moment
A steady beep, beep, beep is what counts right now
External projection: She has her shit together, I want to be her
Internal projection: She’s a mess, I feel sorry for her
 
And…. Action!
The silent incongruence that lives between glitter toenail polish and a hospital bed
 
Stay tuned for next week, where we lather, rinse, and repeat… all the while hoping for a different outcome.

Any experiences resonate? Comment below! 

As I sit down to write this morning I am hyper-aware of my desire to write something that could possibly encapsulate and be in service of today. To this moment. This moment that feels heightened by the anticipation of a medical procedure tomorrow.
 
Yet, I feel torn because “this moment” actually feels like the moment of “before.” It is hard for me to stay present when I am filled with anticipation. The inhale. The calm before the storm. I am at the mercy of overwhelming imagination. I am creating a whole world that will come to fruition intensely in many layers in the near future, particularly tomorrow. I am guessing what may and may not be, for better or worse, for sickness and health. The actual procedure and the implications. I am here, but my focus is over there.

And I wonder, am I missing today? How do you hold present, future, and “before” all at once without exploding?
 
And of course there are layers, it’s not just about anticipating tomorrow. It’s about at least three huge areas of my life that are in destruction for the sake of creation. And the awareness of this is compounding it all.
 
Health: Feeling strong and vibrant, yet filling out advanced directives for the hospital.
Career: My career is in the pain of an acorn longing to be a tree.
Relationship: Everything I thought to be true has changed.
 
Each of these represent aspects of the known and unknown. Of identity, change, and fear. Of the potential of relief and joy.
 
Health: Am I sick; or am I healthy.
Career: Am I to be fulfilled in my capacity to move, inspire, and reignite people to their own awakening process through my life experience, and be a success (grow into an oak); or am I going to be lost in an inability to act and move forward into my own professional fears and finances, and by default fail (stay forever as an acorn).
Relationship: Am I responsible for creating a crisis; or am I in the messy birth of a relationship that is so beautiful it is too much to receive and take it all in.
 
These are questions of identity. Of slowing down and sitting in the unknown of the “before.” Of making meaning, and enriching the stories and labels.
 
Health: I am creating my version of health that includes me being sick.
Career: I am fulfilled in my successes and failures. They teach each other, and I’m nurturing my own soil.
Relationship: I am in a crisis of beauty.
Anticipation: I can be in the heightened state of the “before,” and already be complete and present right now.
 
One side is not at the expense of the other. I can say yes to it all. And that is what is true. Confusing, overwhelming, intense, uncomfortable, and true. I can say to myself, I know these things are coming, one as early as tomorrow morning, and yet here I am, taking this breath right now, and I don’t want to miss it because it is just as precious. I don’t want to just merely get through today, because I know tomorrow is coming.. I have plenty of space and time to be fully in those other breaths later., so I give myself permission to be fully in this breath now. 

​I can be present in my anticipation.
 
How is this for you to stay in today, when you can feel a big moment coming? 

Let’s face it, unless we’re in complete remission/recovery forever and not in a relationship at all, we’re probably going to be going through some sort of set-back/relapse/diagnosis process at some point while also being in a relationship. 
 
And it’s hard. 
 
In my experience my illness/diagnosis bonded us, but also took a toll on my relationship,. When I was diagnosed I had periods of feeling closer in my relationship: like we were a team, like we were beating this together, like if we can make it through this, we can make it through anything. It was the experience of bonding through trauma. 
 
And then came the moments where I felt anger, resentment, shame:
No, I’m not healthy yet (will I ever be healthy?). Stop expecting me to be on a different timeline than I am. I don’t know how long it’s going to take to be normal.
No, I still don’t want to have sex. I don’t know if I ever will.
You know what, you don’t even get me anymore. This relationship is broken.
 
I’m a different person now then when we met.  
 
We all do the best that we can.  Maybe we grow closer together, and maybe we grow farther apart, and there’s also a  whole realm of combo deals out there as well.  There are as many scenarios as there are facets to relationship. 
 
Main point: when things happen to us personally the person we’re in a relationship with takes the most direct hit. Diagnosis in not fair to anyone in the relationship.
 
We want to protect each other from the pain we’re in, from the fear of our own and each other’s mortality, from the reality of the truth. So we stay quiet. As much as this is a noble cause we also miss out on support, and being seen in our pain.   
 
So if you want to be in a real-ationship, my encouragement is to keep communicating.  The harder it gets to be honest about the pain you’re in: be brave and share it.  It’s only going to be worse if you’re holding it in and not sharing, and both people feel isolated and unseen in the relationship.  Hard things, are, well, they’re hard to share. Sometimes impossible. But we have to take each other along on the journey if we want to stay together and grow. If we want a real-ationship. 
 
So what would happen if the things that you think you can’t share about your medical experience, you actually chose to share? 
 
And what would happen if at the same time you could trust your partner to let you know when they need a break from talking about it, and that you’ll come back to it, but you don’t take it personally?
 
This gives everyone an opportunity to be with each other in a crisis when we need each other the most, with enough space to deal with their own issues.  That’s part of one definition of compassion: having all the love in the world, but with a little bit of space. 
 
Everyone gets to be responsible for their own experience, and also be deeply loved. We get both autonomy and support. We get to rock each other to sleep.
 
But, here’s the trick: it’s a practice, and it can feel hard, scary, and vulnerable… but at the end of the day do you want to be in a real-ationship or not? 
 
If so, get brave, and get sharing.   

Does this seem true for you? Comment below:

I look at my iCal calendar on my computer, all organized in bright vibrant color-coded blocks of time from 5:30a to 10p each day, to-dos at the top of each day at least 10 long and I choke on my inhale. Slow down. Breathe. Have patience.
 
But I should know better.
 
A few weeks ago I was doing better. I had days, whole days, that had nothing written on them… well actually, maybe one day. And, well, really that was in December. No, wait, in February I had 3 days off! Good job. Okay, well actually it was because I got the flu and couldn’t go to the 3 day training I was supposed to be at. I remember feeling so relieved I had a 102 degree fever so that I could take those days off to be at home. What’s wrong with this picture? 
 
I am exhausted. My liver aches. One thing gets added to my schedule unexpectedly and I feel overwhelmed, like I’m going to throw up, like I want to hide forever from the world and let go of all responsibilities. But I can’t, I’m committed,.  I did this to myself. 
 
My alarm clock goes off at 4:30am again.
 
I’m making myself sick by being busy. Being busy is my addiction.
 
And right now I’m relapsing. I’m consciously watching myself do my addiction, feeling powerless to stop it. Like I’m a victim of my calendar and all the things I have said “yes” to. Feeling like I need to do all these things in order to cope with what’s going on in my personal life, to cope with not wanting to feel. I’m too busy to have time to feel. How convenient.
 
And the world says: you’re amazing that you can do all of that, it’s inspiring. And I’m justified. Validated. Empowered. To keep doing my addiction. To "get shit done." To use my calendar to avoid living my life.
 
And then I’m fatigued. I’m exhausted. My abdomen aches.
 
You know better. This is how you got sick in the first place. Change your lifestyle. You have to.  And I judge myself. And my alarm goes off at 4:30a again.
 
STOP.  Just stop... Slow down sweet girl. You pace is dizzying, running around in a circle. Listen deep within. Grown up Zina has you now, and is rocking you. It’s okay. Just feel. Feel your precious heart and this moment of life that will not come back again. Who do you want to be when you grow up into this moment? Who do you want to be with? How does that time look, feel, and taste? Don’t miss your life.
 
Sometimes we relapse on our own toxic behavior. Even when we know our lives and health depend on us staying sober. And we suffer as we watch ourselves. And it’s okay… hand on heart, breath in belly. I caught myself sooner this time. I see my pain and frustration. I’m going to be okay, and I’m moving in the right direction.
 
I look at my calendar, start taking out blocks of color, make a few phone calls, sigh into the blank spaces. Alarm goes off at 7a.
 
I can choose to be busy, but less busy, and be aware and awake. I can have self-compassion. I can feel a little. I can be in community. I can do the counter-cultural thing. I can say yes, but also no. I can change. I can honor my health.
 
Does any of this feel true for you? Comment below:

Sometimes things seem too potent to try to share using narrative writing. At moments like these I watch myself turn towards my own bastardized form of poetry, to get to what’s vital. So here we go...
 
I wanted to share with you a little bit of what I learned from conversations in my relationships (with myself and others) this week:
 
​
Isn’t it sad how we come into the world in diapers and then go back to diapers. It’s pathetic.
No, it’s humbling.
 
What am I doing with my life?
I want to curl into a ball, in a cave, and never come out.
To give up. Because I’m overwhelmed.
But instead it’s time to create
These are growing pains.
 
They rock me like waves.
What lies beneath the waves?
What anchors me so I don’t float away from my potential?
 
You and your potential are fruit
The pain right now lies in how ripe you are, yet still on the stem
You will fall to the ground at some point regardless of ripeness, and be incorporated there.
So, how do you nurture yourself to feed your own fecund earth?
 
I know I need to nurture, I need to slow down… I’m overwhelmed, and I did it to myself again.
My business is how I cope.
I judge myself for not being able to internally motivate to change.
Right now it just feels like it needs to come from the outside.
But you don’t want it to come from your doctor.
(No, I want it to come from you.)
 
This is the hospital calling to schedule your next procedure.
 
Ego check.
Reality check.
Vulnerable. Scared. But of course I’ll be fine. I always am.
There’s my external motivation. It’s not the one I wanted. It never is.
But part of me is relieved. Now I have permission to come back to what matters.
Health. Relationship. Purpose.
 
And I’m reminded to:
Live your truth and share it,
You never know who you’re going to inspire.
 
 
Humbling growing pains
rock me like waves
The ripe fall.
 
Slow down.
Change is calling you.
 
Health. Relationship. Purpose. Inspiration. 

So dating.  As if dating weren’t a tough enough situation for most people, bringing up all kinds of internal “stuff,” now we throw illness into the picture.  Sometimes I imagine "Sex in the City" or "Friends," but give each character a chronic, life-altering, or terminal illness on top of it- can you picture it? (Oddly enough, they haven’t made that tv show yet!)

First date:

• Hi, nice to meet you, I have a chronic liver disease, what’s your name again? (Hmmm, I think that went well.)

 
How do I even approach the subject of my illness?  Awkward. That's one thing I assume, is that it’s going to be awkward..  The story in my head, based on zero facts, is that I’m going to tell this person about my illness and they’re going to:
     ·      Scream and run away
     ·      Start crying because they feel so bad
     ·      Spontaneously combust
Of course, all of these options are not dramatic at all, and seem totally possible. Particularly number 3.  Regardless, the conclusion of the story is that I’ll be left to pick up the pieces, and the check. 
 
What if I wait to tell them,? Ya, that could be a good idea. But that brings up the question: when do I wait until? I look fine on the outside, maybe they’ll never know.  Maybe I won’t have to tell them because it’ll just be a short term thing.  Maybe I can just pretend that I’m normal.  You know, go on a few dates, have great sex, everything ends before I have to say anything.  Oh wait, back to the present moment where we’re out having our first date dinner. I can’t drink because of my liver.  I know how this goes, I’m not going to have a drink (no matter how amazing this one date is it’s not worth a one way trip to the hospital so I can live out a fantasy that I’m normal for one dinner!). Which means that they’re going to say:

• You don’t want a drink, come-on, it’s on me, have a glass of wine. 
• I can’t, really.
• Huh. (I’m watching wheels spinning in their head coming to one of two conclusions. She's either:

      ·      In recovery. She’s an alcoholic.
      ·      Pregnant.  I’m on a date with a pregnant woman.)

• Ya. (and I’m thinking, here it comes, brace for impact, are they ask why I don't drink? Awkward. Awkward, awkward, so f-ing awkward!)

 
And with all this swirling in my head I’m definitely not present in the moment.  I forget the fact, and perspective, that lots of people have parts of themselves that they feel like they’re hiding.  That they’re wondering whether or not, or when, to share with someone new in their lives.  In fact I have lots of other things that I have like that too. 

We want to be authentic, but it’s so vulnerable.  
 
The facts in my experience are: I tell people, as soon as I can, and I notice what a challenge that is for me.  At the same time I pay attention to the person’s reaction.  It’s true, they may not be able to handle it, and then I’m so relieved to know that. Because I need to be seen for all of who I am, and this is a big part of me.  So they need to be able to tolerate the discomfort in their own system, and still want to get to know me, and hopefully grow with me. And that’s information I need to know at the beginning so that I can fully show up and not minimize myself or my experience.  Nothing is worth me dimming who I am and living with knowing that I’m only being a fraction of myself.
 
Also, in realty, most people I’ve told have surprised me by their reaction.  They’ve understood in the best way they know how, and they’ve usually related to an ex, a family member, or maybe even their own experience with their own illness (so my being vulnerable lets someone else be vulnerable too, and we realize how similar and human we actually are).  It’s been okay.  Big sigh of relief.
 
So, here’s the point: be brave. This is part of who we are, and part of how we get to do relationship. We get to be 100% real, true, us in our relationships: real-ationships. Claim it no matter how uncomfortable and awkward it may seem, and then gather some information about whether this is a genuine connection or not. Scary, but hopefully doable.  Trust me, it gets easier over time. 
 
We’re not broken, we’re human. And we deserve to be in relationship.
 
What do you think, does this feel true for you?